BY HANNAH POWELL
We were told we had a name;
woman
Definitive of grace, lipstick rubbing off
Hand of a sun-skin warrior
We were told to be sultry,
To be maternal
To hold power with our sex –
with sex,
to give and to take nothing but sex
A temple,
but tidal
Water with fire
Hard-working, defiant
Tidy your scars, would you?
You, revolutioniser.
We were told to take turns,
To step back, and never
stride forward
Your place is determined by your worth, love
Love – worthy of them all
Intelligence is key
to a future, but not
a life
if a life is expected to be someone else’s wife.
Tell them we can do,
A dream will not suffice
Their place is in the home
then what are we, but
four walls –
I am a woman, a
human
Blood, bone, skeleton,
Soul.
HANNAH POWELL is your local film and theatre gal gone hippie, complete with bangs and at least one pair of Docs. Music festival enthusiast, green tea drinker and avid horoscope reader. Will most likely be found at the next gig.
You like? Check out more of her work below:
The Common Room: What a Month of Tinder Taught Me
The Great NZ Festival Road Trip: How you can do it for yourself
V Day: How to take yourself on a date
Up sticks: Why the time is always right to travel
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